A flash Vision saved my Life

February 17 2025

For the Love of an Elephant - by Cathy Buckle "Letter from Zimbabwe" 8th August 2024

An elephant with a very swollen lower leg was standing in the hot, dry bush. Something was wrong, its foot was big and the skin peeling and Kelly watched for a few minutes, took photographs and then phoned Blake Muil. Blake, heading the Rukuru Conservation Unit, went into action immediately; after 30 years of living in the bush and working in the wildlife business, he knew time was critical.

From the pictures it looked like there were two snares on the elephant’s lower leg. They had probably been set near a waterhole where poachers set lines of as many as 100 snares attached to trees all around the water with thorn branches placed in between leaving animals no way to get to the water without getting caught.

The young elephant bull was on the boundary of Rukuru and another property in the Zambezi Valley and these cable snares had probably been on its leg for about two months, gradually going deeper and deeper into its flesh and eventually cutting off the blood supply to the elephant’s foot. Blake knew that intervention was needed urgently before this young bull would lose its foot.

Blake went immediately to the National Parks offices in Marongora to ask for help. A team of Scouts would be taken to the last known location of the elephant and they would start tracking from there. The young bull probably wouldn’t have gone too far with its limited mobility on a painful and very swollen leg. Checking water sources first, the Scouts soon picked up the elephant’s track in the soft sand; it wasn’t hard identifying the spoor which was scuffed and dragged. A few days after it had first been seen, the elephant was located by the tracking team and by then the National Parks head Vet was also available.

The young elephant was darted and the veterinary team got straight to work. There were two snares on the elephant’s back leg, deeply embedded in the flesh above its foot. Two big incisions were made and the wire cable snares exposed. The twisted wires were carefully cut and extracted and the wounds cleaned and sterilized. Antibiotics were injected, the wounds closed and packed and then it was time to administer the reversal drug.

The vet slipped the needle into one of the pronounced blood vessels in the back of the elephant’s ear and told everyone to start moving away. From a safe distance they watched and waited. For the love of an elephant had they all managed to save this young bull? This now was the critical moment. Would the elephant make it? The adrenalin was palpable. “How many minutes,” the vet called out? Someone answered. The tension was thick in the air, the seconds ticked past and they waited to see if the elephant would come round.

The first sign was a puff of dust as the elephant exhaled, its trunk lying flat on the ground. Then another puff of dust. The elephant’s head came up and flopped back down. Its trunk came up, slowly the elephant rocked itself and managed to sit up.

“Excellent,” the vet whispered. “So our boy is waking up nicely after about three or four minutes,” he said. “Up, up, up my boy,” he said, tenderness and emotion clear in his voice. The elephant struggled up onto its feet and there was an audible sigh of relief, a little nervous laughter, whispered chatter. “Well done guys,” the National Park’s head Vet said, “well done, well done.” Everyone shook hands; fantastic teamwork from everyone involved had saved this young elephant bull.

Wonderful work like this needs all our support. Support for transport and fuel, for food and allowances for the trackers; for the vet and the drugs he needs for darting and treatment and then of course for the follow-up monitoring in the weeks to come by Blake and his team and then for the next animal and the next.

This wonderful story from Zimbabwe highlights the fantastic response from National Parks: professional, dedicated and efficient. Blake Muil and the Rukuru Conservation Unit and their helpers need support to continue this critical work for the future of our Zimbabwe; they are there, out of the spotlight, boots on the ground, day after day, saving the wilderness for us and the generations yet to come. Please click this link to support this amazing work. https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=2TNMPJHYHN948

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If you would like to read more about Cathy’s work, please visit her website or subscribe to her letters. There is no charge for the emails “Letter From Zimbabwe” but donations are welcome: https://cathybuckle.co.zw/

Intuition is to be taken seriously!

The African sky was grey and it felt like the dark cloud above us was literally pouring buckets of water on us, as it does in these subtropical regions of Kenya during the main rainy season. Our small group, a hodgepodge of young travellers from Australia, the UK, Canada and myself from Switzerland, were on a mission to explore and experience Africa. Our next ‘mission’ was to climb Mount Kenya. We stood at a bus stop near the picturesque Lake Naivasha, our heavy rucksacks packed with food for 7 days. We had chosen Mount Kenya over Mount Kilimanjaro for a number of reasons… it was less crowded, not as many tourists travelled to Kenya to climb this mountain. The big brother mountain had several well-trodden routes to the summit, the most popular of which was nicknamed the “Coca-Cola route”… obviously because of the many discarded Coca-Cola cans along the way. Mount Kenya was said to be quieter, more picturesque, with beautiful plants and flowers, more adventurous and cheaper! The fees to climb Kilimanjaro are several hundred US dollars. Mount Kenya was to be a simple hike. Not as high as Kili, but still over 5200m towering over the dry savannah. I felt excited and was looking forward to that awesome view!

When the bus stopped where we were waiting – in the pouring rain – the doors opened and our little group of trekkers jumped in. I stood still. The others beckoned to me, “Hurry, get in…”. Even though I had packed my things for this adventure and was ready, I could not move… “It’s OK, go without me,” I shouted as the bus doors closed. I watched the bus drive off, now all alone in the rain. I felt empty, but that was okay.

Why did I have a radical change of mind, just as the bus arrived, in a split second? I had a flash of an image of us walking in a snowstorm at 4000m… without basic climbing gear, without a warm hat, without woolly gloves. I didn’t want to do that, and I decided in an instant not to do the trek. I consoled myself with the thought that I would have another chance to climb this mountain, or Kilimanjaro. I would go one day when the sun was shining, it wasn’t raining or snowing, and the views across the vast savannah would be magnificent.

So there I was, alone, somewhere in Africa. I jumped on the next bus to Nairobi and headed towards the coast. I ended up in Malindi, a small tourist town on the Indian Ocean with a nice beach. However, due to the rainy season, the tropical waters were not so calm and there was a mountain of seaweed on the otherwise empty beach. There were obviously not many other tourists around and there were plenty of guesthouses and small hotels to choose from. I checked into a small hotel of thatched chalets. It was a simple but comfortable place. The staff were friendly and it was not expensive. It seemed just right for me.

I would stay here for a few days, just relaxing, reading, writing letters and catching up on my diary, while the hikers conquered Mount Kenya. I would soon meet up with them again, a little south of here.

A few days later I wasn’t feeling so well. I met some other backpackers and we had dinner together, but I didn’t feel like eating much. The next day, I felt a chill go down my spine. I had a slight fever. Being conscious of travelling through malaria areas, I made an appointment with a local doctor close by. Yep.. the test confirmed my condition: I had malaria. I was given tablets and I went back to my chalet to rest. The staff were so considerate and brought me a nourishing soup to my room. Two days later I woke up feeling like I was a giant balloon floating above my bed.. that was scary! I knew I had to do something NOW, I could not wait any longer. The pills were obviously not working. I literally dragged myself to the reception and made a phone call to Switzerland.

Being a member of the REGA, the Swiss Air-Rescue was now proving to be a good thing .. I didn’t know who else to contact. If I phoned my mother, what could she do, other than be very worried? So contacting the REGA was the best thing to do. They told me to wait there by the phone and they would phone me back in 20 minutes with a plan. Soon after I was in a taxi on my way to Mombassa. REGA had notified a private hospital and I was to check in there. To add some good luck in my unfortunate situation, two backpacking buddies just happened to walk by the hotel, as I was waiting by the reception and I managed to call out to them for help. They followed the REGA-plan, organised the taxi and came with me to the hospital where they ensured I received immediate treatment. I was put on a drip and by evening I was already feeling much better. Later the REGA doctor phoned me and asked about my condition. I was relieved to say that this treatment was now helping and I think I was going to be okay. The hospital was very professional and I was not lacking anything. The REGA doctor told me, “if you think you are not recovering, just give us a call, and we will get you out of there”.
You cannot imagine what a relief that was. A huge burden off my back! To know that there was someone, some institution, thousands of miles away, caring about my well-being and willing to rescue me if need be. I was truly very fortunate.

I recovered within 3 days and subsequently checked out of hospital as if I were checking out of a nice hotel! I bought myself a ticket and flew to the island of Zanzibar, where I met up with my travelling buddies and the Mount Kenya climbers. Together we were ready to continue our journey through Africa, ready for the next adventure.

It was only much later, that it dawned on me how lucky I was. A chill went down my spine when I thought of the possibility of being stuck on Mount Kenya, in a snow storm, with a life-threatening fever. No telephones, no hospital, no REGA!

That flash of insight at the bus stop at Lake Naivasha, saved my life! A lesson that intuition is to be taken very seriously.

And by the way, I still haven’t climbed either mountains, neither Mount Kenya, nor Mount Kilimanjaro. I still have that to look forward to.